


Pilot Light

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Hanukkah, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9134437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: The lit menorah is carefully polished. Harold cleaned it himself earlier this month, when he was debating - as he did every year - whether to take it out of hiding. As before, he hadn't. There didn't seem to be much point to lighting the candles alone, hidden where nobody could possibly see. Reese must have purchased the candles himself.





	

Harold comes into the library, and is greeted by two candle flames and Reese's turned back. He's quite surprised by the strength of his fury.

In the past, Harold's anger has cost him many things he cared about. So he stops, breathes carefully, and tries to see if he has justification for his feelings. 

The lit menorah is carefully polished. Harold cleaned it himself earlier this month, when he was debating - as he did every year - whether to take it out of hiding. As before, he hadn't. There didn't seem to be much point to lighting the candles alone, hidden where nobody could possibly see. Reese must have purchased the candles himself. 

To an outsider, this would be indistinguishable from Reese's many other small intrusions on Harold's privacy, which Harold has come to almost regard fondly.

_Not this_ , says something in Harold's head. This is... something more important than private. Sacred, perhaps, if Harold were less agnostic or more observant. Harold draws a deep breath and Reese turns to face him.

At the raw, desperate look on John's face, Harold's prepared reproach died in his throat. Instead he croaks, "Mr. Reese?"

"Thanks, Harold," John says. He tries for a smile and doesn't quite make it. "When you said you knew everything about me, you really meant it, huh?"

For a moment, Harold is torn. But of course he promised John to never lie, so he says, "As it happens, I wasn't aware you were Jewish, Mr. Reese."

"I'm not." Something complicated happens to John's expression. "My dad was. We celebrated the major holidays with him." _Until he died_ goes unspoken. "I know Judaism goes by the mother." He shrugs. "I guess I don't count, but I missed this." He waves a hand at the menorah, a deceptively glib gesture.

Harold sits down beside him, deliberating on how to answer. His first impulse - to tell John that if the Jewish people won't have him, they are fools - he suppresses. He doesn't have the right to say so, much as it feels otherwise. He chooses his words with care. 

"I haven't observed any of the holidays, in any way, for a long time. Since my mother died, in fact." He notices John become alert, perking up at the chance to have some of his curiosity satisfied.

The candles flicker. Wax melts and drips on the little tray that John placed under the menorah.

"We used to sing songs," John says. "I don't remember how they went."

Harold can relate. "It felt wrong to celebrate alone. Rituals are for communities." He looks up at the library's barred windows. "The candles should be somewhere that allows them to give out light. They should be seen."

"Can't do that," John says. 

In the warm light, the fabric of John's suit looks softer than it normally is. If Harold concentrates, he can imagine the feeling of it under his fingers; he knows the shape of John's clothes by feel.

It's startling to realize he knows John's own shape just as well, knowledge garnered in tailoring sessions and hurried first aid, in briefly, clumsily bearing the weight of John's wounded body. It seems odd, somehow, to know John so closely but in a way that only signaled pain and formality.

"At least I can send you out to the world," Harold says, mostly to distract himself from this perilous line of thought. "Probably you do more good, even if you're less visible."

Perhaps it's the altered lighting that makes John's normally wooden face easier to read; or perhaps John's shell was already cracked this evening, because Harold sees in his expression something fiercely longing, infinitely brighter than the flames. 

"Oh," Harold says softly. John flinches from him, which makes Harold open his palms and say, "Please. Come here."

John crosses the distance between them before Harold has a chance to ask a second time.

~~

A while afterwards, once Harold has caught his breath, he reaches for his phone and taps the keys quickly.

John watches him. "I was hoping for a little more afterglow." He's visibly amused.

"Yes, I thought so: most reform communities will accept people with a Jewish father as Jewish," Harold says, distracted. "There's a synagogue within a walking distance of your apartment that has very good reviews. I'm not sure which cover would suit it best... perhaps Wiley?"

John plucks the phone from Harold's hand, and kisses him before Harold can protest.

"I'll look into it," John promises Harold when they back apart for air. "But..." John gestures at Harold, at the vanishing space between them. His smile is tremulous when he says, "One good thing at a time?"

"Of course," Harold says immediately. He lets John sweep him back down with kisses. The candles have burnt down, leaving only the computers' tiny indicator lights to see by; their own well-known darkness, a comfort for the long night.


End file.
